Not Today

by MC Lee

  WHEN I rounded the last corner and saw the small crowd gathered outside my house, I began to pedal furiously. I squeezed the brakes hard, and the bike slid out from underneath me as I leaped clear and ran toward the house, skidding to a halt when I found Dad standing on the front lawn in his pajamas, staring down Mrs. Sweeney who was trying to coax him back inside.

  “Come on, Brendan,” she said. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

  Dad looked around at the neighbors standing around watching him.

  “Fuck you,” he shouted.

  I hurried forward, and his head turned until he was fixing his hostile stare on me. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded. “Your mother’s been looking for you for hours.”

  “I was out with a friend—”

  “Don’t give me any of your lip,” he thundered, taking a menacing step forward. “I already told you, I don’t want you hanging around with that goddamned faggot.”

  I heard Mrs. Sweeney gasp, and my blood ran cold. I didn’t want him spewing any of his hate, not when a few more doors opened, a few more curtains twitched aside, and more of our neighbors came out to watch the show.

  “Come in, Dad,” I urged. “We can talk about it inside.”

  I walked forward warily, unsure if he was planning to take a swing at me and glad when he let me take his arm and guide him into the house. Mrs. Sweeney followed us, keeping a safe distance, but she must have heard when he muttered, “Goddamned faggot.”

  I’d just helped him through the front door when I heard a voice, louder than the rest of the neighbors’ and their muttering speculation.

  “Where’s your mother? She must realize that this is getting out of hand. She has to do something.”

  I rounded on Joe Turner who lived next door, and stared him down. I wanted to ask where he’d been all those times the house shook with Dad’s raised voice, all those times I’d walked out of here with a black eye, all those times Mom had crept to the store at night so the neighborhood wouldn’t see the fresh bruises. But I needed his silence now, as much as I’d mutely longed for his help back then, so I sucked in a breath and lied.

  “She’ll be home soon. We’re fine.”

  His face held a knowing look, but this was Whitmore: we didn’t ask, we didn’t tell, we didn’t interfere.

  “It won’t happen again,” I said tightly.

  I walked inside and slammed the door shut, cursing silently. Mrs. Sweeney had managed to get Dad into the kitchen and had put a plate of leftover stew in front of him. He was happily tucking in as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  I turned to find her watching me closely. “That was a wicked thing to say. I’m sure your dad didn’t mean it,” she said quietly.

  I stared back, totally confused.

  “It’s the boy who drives you to school. He’s the one your father called that terrible name.”

  Shit! We were actually going to do this now. “He doesn’t like Noah,” I said carefully. I could see she was waiting for something else, but I wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear. So she spelled it out for me.

  “Your friend looks like a fine young man, I’m sure he’s not that terrible thing. I’m sure your father is wrong.”

  It wasn’t the words themselves. It was the tone, the way what should have been a statement was actually a question. She might have said “I’m sure your father is wrong” but what she meant was, “is your father wrong?”

  She was clearly waiting for an answer, so I choked one up, forcing the lie past my raw throat. “He’s wrong.”

  Her troubled expression immediately cleared, and she smiled. “Have you not told your father about this girl you keep seeing? Brendan, do you not know Emmett has a new girlfriend?”

  All those times I’d gone to meet Noah, I’d let her believe I was seeing a girl. I’d never said it in so many words, but I’d never corrected her assumption either. I’d never told an outright lie. Until now.

  This house echoed with my evasions, my petty fabrications, my daily avoidances. Lying had become as normal as breathing, and just as much an automatic reflex. But this was different, and I knew it. I wasn’t lying about myself. This time I’d made Noah’s life into a lie. This time the words made me sick to my stomach.

  I waited until dark, until I was sure Noah was at the Speedway surrounded by jostling friends and noisy crowds and roaring cars. I sent a text first to test the waters, and when he didn’t immediately respond, I walked out onto the porch and sat on the top step.

  It was cool, and I shivered as I pressed the key to connect to his phone. My heart thudded against my rib cage each time it rang, until finally I heard his cheery recorded voice asking me to leave a message.

  “Noah, it’s me. Change of plan. Nothing drastic. Forgot my dad has an appointment tomorrow. I need to take a rain check on the coffee.”

  Dad could call me all the names he wanted, that really didn’t matter. But I needed Mrs. Sweeney, and without actually saying anything, she had made her position clear.

  “Listen. You don’t have to pick me up on Monday,” I ground out, with Mrs. Sweeney’s words ringing in my ears. “I’m going to cycle in. Hope you’re having a great time at the Speedway. See you Monday.”

  I took the coward’s way out and pressed End before I lost my nerve completely.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  NOAH CALLED a couple of times over the weekend, his tone increasingly concerned as I let the calls go straight to voicemail. On Sunday afternoon I finally agreed to meet him for an ice-cream cone. It seemed the easiest option—close to my house, without having to invite him here to brave Dad’s mercurial mood. A quick enough outing that I felt I could leave Dad alone and not have to ask Mrs. Sweeney for yet another favor. I was already on shaky ground with her. I couldn’t stomach the thought of watching that speculative look tighten her features and thin her lips.

  Noah was chatting to Laura when I rolled up to the take-out window, and his smile was sunny and uncomplicated. “I hear chocolate is the flavor of choice.”

  I nodded and accepted a cone, managing a halfhearted wave in Laura’s direction before Noah and I headed toward Stanley Park and found an empty bench. The place looked a little less ghetto today, with moms and their kids replacing most of the winos and hookers.

  “How was the Speedway?”

  The question set Noah off on a fifteen-minute description of fun, excitement, and friendship that I would have envied at any time, but that today hit me particularly hard.

  “I had to talk Cal out of driving to your place and dragging you out with us,” Noah said, his tone suddenly shifting. “He’s starting to get really worried about you.”

  I glanced sideways. “Thanks. Dad was having a pretty rough night on Friday.”

  “Shit, Emmett. You should have called me. I’d have come over—”

  “That’s why I didn’t call,” I cut in.

  Noah finished off his cone and wiped his hands on his chinos. “That’s why you canceled yesterday, isn’t it?”

  I shrugged, refusing to meet his concerned gaze. He licked his lips, and somehow I knew what he was about to say.

  “Why don’t you let me talk to somebody? It doesn’t have to be an adult,” he hurried out. “But you have a lot of friends. We could all help.”

  I shook my head wearily. “I can’t take that risk. It would only take one dumb asshole like Foster to bring this whole house of cards crashing down. I’m holding it together by the skin of my teeth—”

  “But you’re not! That’s my point. It’s ruining your life. And you have no idea what you’re doing to your father. What if you’re standing in the way of him getting better?”

  “You don’t think that’s what keeps me awake at night?” I said.

  “So reach out,” Noah pleaded. “I’m here. My parents can help you—”

  I didn’t think the sound that came out of my mouth was a recognizable word, but Noah understood it just the same. His mouth closed with an audible sn
ap.

  We sat in silence for a few minutes until finally Noah sighed. “Why don’t you want me to pick you up tomorrow? What happened?”

  I couldn’t meet his solemn gaze, and I couldn’t find the words to describe my cowardice.

  “It has to have something to do with me,” he said quietly. “Who I am. What I am.”

  “Noah, can we drop it?” I pleaded. “I’m sorry I can’t be the person you want me to be.”

  “Yourself, Emmett. I only want you to be yourself.”

  I shrugged and ventured a look at him, seeing only kindness and not the judgment I was so afraid of.

  He grimaced. “I’m guessing this is the wrong time to ask whether you can get away on Friday night? Melissa is having a party. I thought it might be fun.”

  “It will be a shitload of fun,” I murmured.

  “So, what do you think? Any chance?”

  I saw the carefully restrained longing on his face, and couldn’t bring myself to shoot him down.

  “Let me check with Mrs. Sweeney.”

  His grin widened, and his whole face lit up. “It will be a blast. Everybody will be there. We’re gonna have a ball.”

  My mouth twitched in response to his infectious exuberance, and for a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to hope.

  “I’D LOVE to help you out, sweetheart. But I’m going to my sister’s on Friday. I was going to tell you that I won’t be able to come by during the day either. I was hoping maybe you could figure something else out.”

  Mrs. Sweeney looked so dismayed that I hastily coughed up a lie. “No worries, Mrs. S. I was only going out for a burger with some friends. We can do it another night.”

  “If you’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.” I patted her awkwardly on the arm and walked her to the door, swallowing down my disappointment. I’d asked if she could pop in and keep an eye on Dad on Friday night so I could escape to the party for a couple of hours, but it didn’t look as though that was going to happen.

  “I made you a pan of lasagna. All you have to do is reheat it. There’s a bowl of salad in the fridge too.” She stepped out of the house and paused on the deck. “Why don’t you ask one of your dad’s friends? I’m sure somebody could spare an hour or two.”

  “I might just do that, Mrs. Sweeney,” I said, my fake cheer sounding pretty convincing to me. I knew I wouldn’t call any of them. Frank had already made the obligatory monthly visit. He’d reminded me, not so subtly, that they all had lives and families of their own, and I had too much pride to consider calling and begging for help. Besides, I had to save up the favors for a real emergency. “Don’t worry about us,” I said. “We’ll manage just fine. Have a good visit with your sister.”

  “I’ll be over some time on the weekend, okay?” With a parting wave, Mrs. Sweeney shuffled down the stairs and disappeared.

  Dad seemed oblivious when I walked back into the house. I had to work hard to suppress the resentment building inside me. It wasn’t his fault his mind was slipping, and I couldn’t wholly blame him for Mom walking out. I tried to persuade myself that there would be other parties, other football games, other chances to kick back with a six-pack and shoot the shit with friends. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that my whole life was passing me by.

  NOAH TRIED to hide it, but he wasn’t quick enough, and I saw the pained look that flashed across his face when I told him I had to bail on the party.

  “Are you sure? Not even for an hour? I could pick you up and drop you back home—”

  “You know I would if I could. But he’ll be by himself all day. I can’t leave him alone all night too. I just can’t, Noah.”

  I closed my locker door, slamming it harder than I’d planned. Noah winced and looked down at his feet.

  “There’s nobody else you can call on? A family friend? Another neighbor?”

  “Don’t you think I’d have done that if it was an option?” I said tightly. “You said you understood—”

  “Okay. I won’t go either. We can—”

  “You’re going,” I said flatly. “You think it will make me feel better knowing I screwed up your evening too?”

  Noah’s head came up sharply. “I don’t give a shit about the party,” he hissed. “All I want is to spend some time with you.” He didn’t offer to come hang out at my place, and I didn’t blame him. Dad had made his feelings clear, and I was worried that he’d show his hostility in more physical ways. It was one thing for him to throw a punch in my direction, but I was never going to put Noah in that position.

  I ran a hand through my hair, feeling frustration peak. “Look. Let me see how Dad is feeling. If he’s doing okay, I’ll give you a call and we can hit Melissa’s for a couple of hours.”

  Noah gave me a skeptical look, but he nodded. “It will do you good to get out of the house.”

  “I hear you,” I said.

  He glanced around and then leaned in and placed a swift kiss on my cheek. “I’ll do whatever you want. You know that, right?”

  He smiled reassuringly, and I wondered if he actually believed any of this was possible.

  WHEN I got home after school on Friday, Dad was staring at his open wallet, and I immediately knew where his mind was. He was looking at the photograph he’d taken of Jamie in his uniform just before he’d shipped out that last time, scowling a challenge into the camera. I’d seen the picture dozens of times before. It was the only one Dad kept in his wallet.

  “How’s it going, Dad?” I asked tentatively.

  “When are you playing your next game?” he asked. “Frank and the boys were asking.”

  I mumbled something vague and evasive.

  “That boy plays on your team now. You told me he was good.”

  I had told him Noah was on the football team, but I was shocked he remembered. I could have sworn he’d been totally out of it. I’d only been talking to try to coax him out of one of the mute funks he often fell into, saying anything that popped into my head just to fill the painful silence. I couldn’t believe that he’d actually registered what I’d said, and I wondered what else was rattling around that disjointed brain of his.

  “Jamie will want to watch you play when he comes back on leave. We’ll make a day of it. Frank and Josie were talking about a barbecue. Your mother’s going to make her potato salad and that coleslaw everybody likes.”

  I swallowed hard. “That sounds great, Dad.”

  He stared at the picture a minute longer before flipping his wallet shut and shoving it back into his pocket. “Where is your mother?” he asked. “I’m starving.”

  I managed to distract him until I was pretty sure he was back in the present, and then I walked into the kitchen and put Mrs. Sweeney’s lasagna into the oven to heat. When I walked back out again, Dad was pulling on his coat.

  “I’m going to the store to pick up some beers,” he said.

  “Hang on. I’ll come with you,” I said quickly.

  He scowled and muttered, “I don’t need anybody to hold my fucking hand.”

  I ignored him and grabbed my jacket, and we walked out together, leaving the door unlocked behind us. We might live in the ass-end of Whitmore, but we never worried about petty crime. Nobody would have dared take something that didn’t belong to them, not when everybody was in each other’s business, and stealing from your own was an offense second only to talking to the cops.

  The street was pretty empty, though I wasn’t really concerned. When Dad was most of the way back like this, I didn’t have to stress about him saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. His pride wouldn’t allow him to admit that his wife had finally run out on him, and he guarded our secrets as fiercely as he ever had.

  Laurie smiled when she saw us and waved a hand.

  “Hi, Mr. Callaghan. I haven’t seen you here in a while.”

  Dad thawed enough to acknowledge her with a curt nod. He disappeared down one of the aisles and returned a few minutes later with a six-pack. He dug into his pocket for his wallet,
frowning when he opened it to find it empty.

  “Emmett. Get these,” he ordered.

  I started, knowing I had no more than a couple of dollars on me. I went through the motions anyway, my face burning as I pulled out the few coins that were in my pocket and slapped them down onto the counter. Dad began to shuffle his feet and mutter under his breath, and I didn’t need to hear the words to know he was cursing me.

  Laurie reached out and brushed the back of my hand. “I’ll put it on the tab, Emmett,” she said softly.

  There was no tab, and we both knew it. Old man Henley had cut us off a month ago when we’d fallen too far behind with our payments, and now he only served us when we had cash.

  “Th-thanks, Laurie,” I stammered, grateful beyond words to avoid a scene.

  She pushed the coins back across the counter and jerked her head, and I caught sight of Henley coming out of the back room and moving purposefully toward us. I hustled Dad out as quickly as I could, the six-pack clenched tightly in my fist. When we got outside, I glanced back to see Laurie reaching for her purse and extracting her wallet while Henley wagged a finger in her face.

  I would have given anything to walk back in there and throw my money down, to put the confident smile back on Laurie’s face. But all I could do was silently vow to pay her back as soon as I could and appreciate her steadfast friendship more than ever.

  I was glad to get back to the house and close the front door against the rest of the world. I followed Dad into the kitchen and set about getting the dinner onto plates while he sat silently and poured beer down his throat. When I turned to put Dad’s dinner in front of him, his face was an undisguised sneer.

  “Where’s your friend tonight?” The emphasis made the word ugly, just as he’d intended.